


A Saving Grace

by Losille



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 09:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10873929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Losille/pseuds/Losille
Summary: All press is good press, right? Not if you ask Henry Cavill. After recordings from a disastrous interview go viral, Henry’s life begins to crumble around him. He has no idea how to stop it from happening. Fortunately, he has a new assistant who could be his saving Grace.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> No, I don’t believe anything tabs say about Henners being terrible to women. However, it really got my creativity going after I started having ideas about a fic with him. So, I’m going with that as my point of departure. All images here are FAKE. FAKE NEWS. NOT REAL. And, for the record, the second image’s newspaper is The Daily Planet.
> 
> There is little reading in the prologue, it’s mostly visual. First chapter to come soon. Please bear with me, this is my first Henry fic.

**A Saving Grace: Prologue**

 

 


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Grace slammed her fist on the desk, rattling the computer monitor and other office supplies sitting on it.  She pushed away from her computer and leaned back in her chair, groaning at the ceiling. That was the sixth boyfriend in two years who sent a breakup email instead of having the decency to say it to her face. And that didn’t even include the endless parade of first dates that never turned into seconds, or some that didn’t even last past the first hellos.

She was done with Internet dating. And Tinder. And all the other horrible websites out there claiming they were going to find her the perfect husband with their scientifically tested matching algorithms and stupidly sweet commercials. None of this shit worked for women who weren’t the idealized version of the feminine form.

“What’s your problem?” asked the voice beside her.

Grace turned to the thin man sitting at the desk beside her in the open floorplan office.  He pulled off his large headphones and set them on his neck as she frowned. “Do I look like a cave troll, Eli?”

Eli pursed his pillowy lips and tossed back the dark hair that had fallen in his amber colored eyes. He tried looking like a tortured hipster with frayed skinny jeans, plaid button downs with rolled up sleeves, and that ridiculous floppy hair, but there was no hiding that he was just another pretty boy underneath it all. “Only when Aunt Flo visits, baby.”

“Ugh!” She kicked the leg of the table harder than she intended, crunching her toes in her bargain brand heels. “I’m so fucking done with this bullshit. Why’s it so hard to find a man in this godforsaken town?”

Eli looked at her and shook his head. Of course, he didn’t need to answer. She already knew why. That’s what happens to people who live in the most vapid and self-centered place in the world.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and lifted it so she could see, pointing a finger at the screen. “Do I need to call Ty and tell him we’re taking our wifey out drinking tonight?”

“No,” Grace said. “I’m just going to hang out with Ben and Jerry tonight.”

“Don’t do that, Graciela!” he cried. “We’ve been doing so good on the food plan!”

Grace huffed. Yeah, well, she started the blasted food plan because her now ex-boyfriend suggested she do it. She didn’t even know why she agreed; she should have known he wasn’t worth it. All her life she’d been rounder, but she’d never really cared about it, even enjoyed having the extra shapeliness. Until him. Until she began realizing all the men she had any interest in wanted an extremely specific body type in their women. Now, however, she knew it was simply due to her choice in men and nothing to do with her. So that meant she either had to lower her expectations in men or live the rest of her life content with vibrators and fantasies.

At least Eli and his husband had agreed to do the diet with her, though neither of them had any weight to lose and simply wanted to sculpt their muscles further. And of course, they’d been spectacularly successful, because they were men. Why did they always get it so easy?

“I’m done with this shit,” she said. “I’m eating all the elotes and frijoles I want, starting this weekend at my mom’s birthday.”

“Now don’t be drastic,” Eli urged, wheeling closer to her. “You’ve put in so much work.”

She suffered the disgusting green smoothies and tasteless boiled chicken breasts for months only to lose two pounds. Grace shook her head. “Nope. I like enjoying food more, thank you very much.”

They were disturbed by Eli’s office phone extension ringing. Grace looked back at her computer screen and the constantly updating Twitter stream scrolling across it. She should get back to work monitoring her accounts, but she just couldn’t make herself do it. Not today. Fuck all these people trying to be something they most certainly were not to impress others. Why had she ever gotten into public relations, anyway?

She groaned and wheeled forward with another grumble under her breath, reaching for the computer mouse, but froze when she heard, “Navarro! Get in my office!”

“Now doesn’t that make my fucking day,” she muttered under her breath. Being called to the boss’s office in that tone of voice did not bode well for her, even though she always made sure her work was impeccable. What was he planning to yell at her for now?

Her boss, Dave, always found reasons to pick at her work or created traps to trip her up. In the beginning, she ignored it because public relations was hard in Hollywood—one of the most difficult fields in the entertainment industry. Emotions ran high and everyone was expected to be on their A-game every single minute of every single hour they were on the clock… and honestly, even when they were off the clock. Their clients’ careers depended on it, after all. She understood his picking in the beginning. As time marched on, though, with men promoted before her and hired after with less education and skill, plus the shit always seeming to land on her head when something went south, she was at a breaking point. And that didn’t even include the number of times he sent her on coffee runs or asked her to make copies when his _male_ assistant was perfectly capable. Dave was nothing more than a sexist pig.

Grace stood up from her desk and smoothed the sheer blouse over her stomach, making sure it was still tucked into the waist of her pencil skirt.  She bent to look in the little mirror she and Eli kept between them and breathed in a sigh. At least she wasn’t crying after the email, or it would have destroyed her makeup. She refused to give Dave the pleasure of seeing evidence of her emotions smeared all over her face.

She quickly moved across the office floor and stopped in front of Dave’s door, knocking lightly and letting herself inside the room. Dave sat at the round meeting table inside with another man who was probably in his late forties, good looking with graying hair. She’d never seen him before. He smiled brightly and stood up to greet her.

“Fred Wellington, Grace Navarro,” Dave introduced with a curt nod between them. “Sit down, Navarro.”

She shot him a pointed frown and pulled a seat out. “What’s wrong?”

Dave sat forward and folded his hands over a thick file. “Fred is Henry Cavill’s agent, here on behalf of Henry’s manager, Dany Garcia.”

“Ooookay,” Grace said, dragging out the word.

She knew about Henry Cavill. _Everyone_ knew about Henry Cavill and what had happened to the once Golden Boy of the DC movies universe. He had an appalling interview with an unscrupulous journalist who published audio for a very large pay day. The things that were said in the interview were career and character suicide, whether the audio was heavily edited or not, and whether the journalist purposely backed Cavill into a corner to get the incriminating answers she wanted. In PR terms, he was dead in the water and needed resuscitation.

His previous PR agency dropped him, which led them to her company, Elite Solutions PR, in the hope of recovering his image. Being such a high-profile person, Dave placed the account with his senior staff, not with her, a lowly social media specialist. She hadn’t heard much about the plans to bring his career back to life after the initial intake.

“Ms. Navarro, nice to meet you.” Fred smiled kindly and stretched his hand out to shake hers. At least Fred seemed like a decent guy.

Dave blustered and patted his tie down a slightly protruding beer gut.

Grace smiled back. “You, too.”

“Fred and I have been talking about the targeted campaign we’ve put together for his client’s reintroduction to the public,” Dave explained. “Since Warner Brothers decided to keep him on as Superman, they want to use the _Justice League_ promo tour to help springboard a new image.”

She nodded, trying not to hope this was Dave offering her a promotion. As much as she could use the boost in pay and an office of her own—with windows—she didn’t want this one because Dave would micromanage the shit out of her. “Why don’t you just send him to rehab like everyone else who needs an image reboot? People love comeback stories.”

Fred sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ve floated that to him, but he refuses.”

“It worked with Affleck—”

“Right, but it works in Ben’s favor because he plays Bruce Wayne. Superman is a golden hearted country boy and a stint in rehab doesn’t suit the image, which WB then agreed with. And his business manager didn’t like it either. It’s why we’re here and signing with Elite. Our previous PR fired him because he wouldn’t accept that media plan.”

_So on top of being a chauvinistic idiot stuck in the 50s, he’s stubborn as fuck. Great._

“I’m not understanding why you need me, Dave. I’m just a social media specialist,” Grace said.

Dave cleared his throat. “We’re getting there, Navarro.”

She flattened her lips into a line. _Double great_ , she thought. From his tone of voice alone, she knew she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

“Henry has, however, agreed to play the long game. To be better in interviews and follow the guidance of his PR assistant in future interactions with the public,” Fred explained.

“We’re planning to get him in at several charity functions along the publicity tour to bolster the positive side of his image,” Dave explained. “That’s in addition to a few puff pieces we’ve hand selected to give him the best coverage. When it comes to film-specific interactions, we will yield to WB’s publicist, but our firm will always be represented.”

Grace understood. “So you’re sending him a babysitter.”

Dave’s beady shit brown eyes narrowed. “Precisely, Navarro. And you’re the babysitter.”

“Excuse me?” she asked.

Fred gave her a tight smile. “He doesn’t have a personal assistant at the moment, either, so I thought whoever Dave selected for the position might take on a few of those tasks for the promo tour to cut cost. It’ll keep him out of trouble—away from clubs, women and alcohol. At least until this all blows over.”

Grace puffed up her cheeks and blew out a long stream of air. “With all due respect, the man practically lives in a club. How do you think you’re going to keep him out of one?”

“That’s your job,” Dave said.

“And I am also a woman,” she replied. _And I fucking love tequila._

Dave glanced over at her, his eyes slithering down her body and back up to her face. He made his point without having to say anything, just like Miranda Priestly did to Andi Sachs in _The Devil Wears Prada_. She needed a scalding shower to clean off the slime now on her skin.

“If I refuse?” Grace asked.

“I’ll expect your resignation on my desk in the morning, then,” Dave replied.

She rolled her eyes. What choice did she have anyway? It was fucking impossible to get your foot in the door at an agency like this anywhere in Los Angeles. She didn’t have the funds to move elsewhere in the world to a location with a high demand for publicists, and she certainly needed the funds she _did_ have to pay her bills here. And then there was the matter of starting all over again, from the ground up, with no family or friends to help in a distant location. She sure as hell wasn’t about to do that with another boss who could be worse than Dave.

Grace sank back into her seat and glanced across the table at Fred, who still looked apologetic about Dave’s behavior. At least there was someone with a little heart in this industry.

“What about my other accounts?” she asked. She had no other suitable objections to the work but those.

“We’ll split them between Elijah and Lachlan,” Dave said. “Your sole responsibility for the next two months is Cavill—make sure he stays on the straight and narrow and don’t let other people goad him into spouting off again.”

She locked her jaw and gave him a swift, curt nod. She could do it; what could possibly be so hard about shepherding a wayward movie star? She just wished that someone else had been assigned the task. PR assistant was one thing, but they also wanted her to be part _personal_ assistant. Knowing that Dave thought so little of her contribution to the office that he was willing to assign her a task rife with picking up dry cleaning and grocery shopping set her teeth on edge. Or maybe he had the greatest amount of trust in her that she’d do the job so well, that he felt comfortable giving her the responsibility?

Grace looked at the balding man again. No, he didn’t trust her. Couldn’t possibly. She didn’t have the necessary appendage. But she was a woman, so he must have figured she’d be good at getting coffee and cleaning up after an arrogant actor.

“When do I start?” she asked.

Fred smiled. “Tomorrow morning. Say… ten? You can dress casually, though. No need for business attire…”

_…when you’re running around doing errands._

Yeah, she knew what he meant.

“Great,” she replied and turned to Dave. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some work to finish off if I’m handing my accounts over before I leave.”

Dave waved her off without another thought.  She nodded at Fred and beat a hasty retreat out of his office. She went directly for Eli’s desk and held her hand out, wiggling her fingers. “I need a cigarette.”

“Okay, I’m _definitely_ not letting you have one of those,” he said, looking up at her. “You told me never to let you have another one when you quit last year.”

“But I _need_ one,” she groaned. “My life has just turned to shit in a half hour and I need something. Anything.”

Eli squinted. “That bad, huh?”

Grace groaned and raked a hand through her long black-brown hair. Her fingers snagged on a tangle deep in the voluminous tresses. She winced. “Please.”

He reluctantly pulled out his latest pack and stuck one in her hand with the rainbow-colored lighter. Eli was never one for subtlety. “Don’t come crying to me because you’re hooked again.”

She rolled her eyes and darted through the office for the exit leading to the outdoor smoking area. Even before she flicked the wheel on the butane lighter, she felt the tingle and burn of smoke filling her lungs, the eventual long pull relaxing her frayed nerves. God, she needed one of these.

Grace sucked in another mouthful, resting her back against the brick façade of their first-floor office. The heat of the sun had baked the red bricks throughout the day, which in turn heated her back and scratched against her body like a five-hundred-dollar hot stone massage, which she definitely didn’t have the money for, so it was nice to lean there and enjoy the sensation. Small pleasures and all that.

She turned her face up to the clear blue sky and hot sun. Sometimes living in SoCal had a lot of negatives like superficiality and traffic, but warmth in October was definitely a positive. It wouldn’t be this warm in the other places she would be traveling in the coming months; she figured it was worth it now to soak it all up. Why she even considered leaving LA a few minutes ago confused her. Between the sunny days and her family, she couldn’t imagine living any other place in the world.

A clearing throat made her turn her head.  She blinked away the sun, allowing her pupils time to adjust to the shadow on her left. Fred was standing just outside the door, his hands in his pockets. He was taller than her, not by much, but he still gave her a feeling that he was powerful. Except he was also soft spoken and one of those men who didn’t need to raise his voice to be heard.

“I’m sorry for intruding,” he said. “I wanted to talk with you a little more.”

“About?” she asked, raising a brow at him. Her objective with their mutual client was simple: mollycoddle the hell out of him and don’t let him talk to anyone.

He smiled. “About your new charge.”

Grace dropped her shoulders and pushed away from the wall. She snuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray to her right and stepped into the shade. Dark skin or not, she wasn’t in the mood to deal with skin cancer.

“He’s a decent guy. I know what you must have heard about the story and it doesn’t paint that type of picture,” Fred said, “but I’ve never known him to be like that—with me or with women. Sometimes, though, he has word vomit. He’s almost… socially awkward, you know?”

She nodded. Even though she’d worked in this business for five years and met a lot of famous people who always seemed to have it all, there was always _something_ that they were desperate to overcome or hide. It’s why they hired publicists—to hide or minimize their brokenness or their problems. The public wanted perfection. They wanted to live their lives in dream worlds and fantasies based on these people who supposedly had it all. Unfortunately, the public usually didn’t get to see just how fucked up their idols’ lives were because of people like her.

“He’s been my client for ten years now. He’s good people and I want to see him succeed, not just because he’s my star right now,” Fred said.

She heard his earnestness. Fred was a good guy, whether he was a cutthroat in the industry or not. “I understand.”

He coughed into his hand and stepped forward. “And I want to make sure that you’ll do your best. Dave can be—”

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “But he’s the best fixer in this industry.”

“Definitely.”

Grace sighed. “Mr. Wellington—”

“Fred,” he corrected.

“Fred.” She really did like him. He didn’t give off the air of sleaziness that so many in this town did. “I plan to do my job to the best of my abilities. Believe me.”

And it was the truth. Even though she despised the reason for being placed in this role, she never shirked her responsibilities. She worked hard and took pleasure in hard work. Life was hard, too, but it could have been harder if she didn’t have such a strong ethic. Sometimes, though, it was a lot to handle all at once. By tomorrow morning, after having some time to cool down and re-center herself, she had little doubt she would perform admirably.

Fred smiled again, looking her over, from feet to head, but it wasn’t in the smarmy way Dave had done in the office. This appraisal was one of measurement—measuring everything about her that wasn’t physical, if he could do such a thing by judging her exterior. “Have you had a chance to meet Dany Garcia, yet? She’s Henry’s business manager.”

“Unfortunately, no,” she said.

“But you have heard of her before today?”

“Oh, yeah,” Grace replied with a nod. Dany was Dwayne Johnson’s ex and his wildly successful business partner with her own powerful management firm. “Who hasn’t? She’s created an empire.”

“That she has,” Fred said. “You remind me of her. You have the same chutzpah. I think when you meet her and the team, you’ll hit it off. She didn’t come today because she can’t stand Dave, so she asked me to do the dirty work.”

Grace laughed at his explanation. “I’m sorry you had to deal with it, too.”

The man shrugged and stepped closer to her as though they were conspiring on some great plot. “Play your cards right, and I’ll make sure Dany finds a position for you on her team after the tour.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.” He grinned and reached into his suit coat for a business card. Then he offered it to her. “If you need anything at all, please call my direct line. They have the dossier and all your information inside, but someone from Dany’s office will meet you at Henry’s tomorrow morning.”

Grace looked at the card and ran her finger over the raised lettering and expensive linen cardstock. She looked up and offered her hand again. “Thank you, Fred.”

“No problem, Grace,” he said and stepped away from her, toward the sidewalk that would lead him to the parking lot. “Remember, I’ll be watching you.”

She saluted him as he strode away. He drove off in a shiny Mercedes. Finally, she sighed and looked at the watch on her wrist. “I guess break’s over.”

At least, she thought as she opened the door into her office, the afternoon wasn’t a total waste. It was enough to get her back to her computer to close shop for the foreseeable future. The only problem left was breaking it to Eli that she wasn’t going to be around as much.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!

**Chapter 2**

Henry hated waiting, and that was exactly what he’d been doing lately. Waiting for new scripts and offers to come in. Waiting for his agent to get back to him with good news. Waiting for his career to level out after the nosedive it took. Waiting for the public to forgive him. Waiting for Warner Brothers to quit jerking him around with their decision. Waiting for his girlfriend-of-the-week to walk out on him. Waiting for his mother to speak to him again.

Yeah.

He was sick of it, going stir crazy stuck on house arrest because no one trusted him to go outside—into public—as a normal human being, like he was 99.9% of the time. It was, of course, because of that infinitesimal .1% that he found himself doomed to solitary confinement until something could be sorted out to help his career. No, “help” had long since been abandoned as the appropriate word. “Saved” was better.

He wanted control of his life. He wanted to be involved in his decisions—not leaving them up to other people for the good of his ‘brand’. Not playing by the stupid fucking rules these idiots wanted him to follow, just so they didn’t smear his name from here to kingdom come. Was it so much to ask for just one thing he could call his own?

Henry groaned when the mobile in his sweatpants pocket started to jingle a happy tune once again. Never had he dreaded something as much as he did the sound of that dissonant electronic song, and no matter how many times he tried to ignore it, they kept calling him. Dany was probably back at the house already, wondering where he’d escaped to, because she told him not to leave. Well, he damn well knew that, but since he no longer had an assistant to walk Kal, someone else had to do it.

So he did it. Against her wishes. Against everyone’s wishes. And what happened? Nothing. The earth didn’t split between his feet. The sea didn’t dry up. The markets didn’t crash. A giant meteor didn’t kill them all. Life went on. The gardeners next door didn’t even notice him slip out the gate. The girls at the bus stop on their way to school didn’t bother to look up from their phones when he jogged by. And Kal, well, he lifted his leg on a tree and then dropped the biggest load Henry had ever seen.

Kal, sensing that his master needed to be put further into his place, sat quietly at his side and looked up at Henry expectantly, waiting for his shit to be picked up and disposed of like it was some bloody gift. And Henry did it because he loved the damn dog and the dog couldn’t give two shits about what a fuck up he’d become.

It was just another normal day. With normal things. No one cared about him… and as much as that would have bugged him before, right at the moment, he sort of liked the anonymity. At least they weren’t pressing him with ridiculous questions, trying to make a bigger story out of his moment of drunken insanity.

When his phone silenced for a few moments and then picked back up ringing, he finally gave up and rested a shoulder against a tree trunk, enjoying the shade and cool breeze. The sun would heat up with the day soon, but he was going to soak up as much of this as possible.

“What?” he barked at the person on the other end.

“Well, good morning to you, too, Henry.” Dany Garcia, the indominable woman that she was, certainly wasn’t going to take any of his shit. “Where are you?”

“Out.”

Dany breathed in, then let it out. “Out… where?”

“Walking Kal,” he said, counting down the seconds it took her to explode.

  
To his surprise, she  _didn’t_  explode. No. Instead, she took another breath and groaned. “Henry, we talked about this.”

“Look, I know you’re worried about this,” he said, “but nothing happened. No one even looked at me a second time.”

“Yeah, it’s the things you don’t notice that worry me,” she said.

Henry sighed. “The only person I’ve talked to is Kal, and he’s certainly not talking to anyone.”

“No, because that’d be insane,” Dany replied. “Has it really been that bad you’re having full conversations with him now?”

“Yeah, it is that fucking bad,” he said. “But I’ve always had conversations with him. That’s why I got him. You know that.”

Dany laughed. “Right. I know.”

“What do you want, anyway?”

“Well, it’s almost ten. The publicist—”

“God save me from bloody publicists,” he said. Frankly, he was pretty much done with the whole thing. Done with the publicists on the other side trying to make him look like some ogre of a man, and then the ones on supposedly on  _his_  side refusing to help him unless he agreed to do exactly what they wanted. No matter that it felt one hundred percent wrong to compound the situation with more lies.

“Be that as it may,” she said, “you’re stuck with one. Fred said you’ll like this one.”

Henry harrumphed. “Yeah, well, we’ll see.”

“It’s a quarter till,” Dany replied. It sounded like there were shuffling papers on her end, then a sigh. “Oh, my other line’s going. Please come back.”

“I’ll be there in a bit. Just let me enjoy my freedom for a little longer.”

“Okay. Ta,” she said, the line going dead a second later. He knew Dany had his best interests at heart—and he considered her a friend—but by God, he hated when she just brushed him aside to deal with something else. Busy businesswoman or not, it would have been nice to have some more deference placed on their relationship. Except, he  _also_  knew she didn’t get to where she was because she waited around and coddled people with effusive goodbyes.

Henry slipped the phone into his pocket and stepped away from the tree. Might as well head back to his prison.

As he rounded the corner onto his quiet street a silver sedan sailed past him and stopped with squealing brakes in front of the gates leading to his driveway. It took him a moment to recognize that it was a recent model Honda Civic—certainly not the type of car that regularly traversed these neighborhood streets other than employee cars, even though he knew many of the employees around here also drove expensive autos. It was the thing to do in LA. But then he noticed the large Uber sticker on the back window. Maybe the passenger’s car was in the shop.

The passenger side door opened and a woman stepped out of the vehicle, her cell phone pressed to her ear. Long and shiny black-brown hair floated and whipped in a gust of wind, making the strands look like dark, glittering streamers in the bright sunlight.  She turned into the car with a smile and loudly thanked the driver before telling him she’d let him know when to pick her up, perhaps with a little more familiarity than one might with a random driver. Did she personally know the owner of the car?

Henry paused and watched her talk on the phone some more, adjusting a large black tote bag on her shoulders and fidgeting with her clothing. She looked expensive. Fussy. Like she spent hours in the mirror every morning perfecting her look. Definitely well off, if her expertly tailored clothes were anything to go by. The navy skirt and thin sleeveless blouse in the most eye-popping shade of fuchsia clung to parts of her body that should have been sinful with her curves, but somehow it still made her seem fiercely professional.

A thought crept from the back of his mind that he’d really like to see her eyes, too, but that was impossible due to the large mirrored aviators covering much of her face. Besides, he was too far away to make anything out. And why the hell did it matter what her eyes looked like? He’d seen enough to peg her as just another endlessly high maintenance woman who expected the world without giving anything of herself in return.

He stopped himself. That line of thinking was what got him in trouble in the first place. He wasn’t a misogynist like so many believed of him now. In fact, he loved women: their soft skin, the way they smelled, and the little sounds they made in the throes of pleasure. He loved talking with them, and he loved their softness and compassion. But he also found himself mystified by their resilience and their ability to find an inner strength he, himself, did not possess.

He had simply reached a point in his life where he had grown tired of certain types of women taking everything from him and running when the going got tough. He was tired of handing out easy rides. Had that made him selfish? A tad chauvinistic? Maybe. But wouldn’t anyone else in the same situation finally wise up when they’re viewed as nothing more than a meal ticket?

_“Boof!”_

Henry startled out of his thoughts and looked at the panting dog at his feet. Then he glanced up at the woman, finding that she’d turned in her spot and was now watching him closely. At least, he suspected she was watching him from the angle of her head—it was hard to tell with the sunglasses. Her face remained slack and impassive as she stared.

Great, now she’d think he was a creep just standing there staring at her from afar. Not that it mattered, either, because if she thought he was a creep, she would stay far away from him and not take anything he didn’t want to give.

“Kal,” Henry said in a warning, deep tone. He lightly snapped the dog’s collar to remind him of his training when Kal tried jerking forward. “No.”

Kal huffed and sat back down at his feet, looking up to him for further direction. Henry motioned for him to follow across the street to the awaiting woman standing outside his front gates. The tight, sickening feeling in his stomach told Henry all he needed to know about her—she was his new publicist. It explained her whole look. Beautiful and put together on the outside—the full package, seemingly—but hiding something else away from the world.

She didn’t bother to greet him first, either. Even before he made it up onto the opposite curb, the woman squatted down delicately on her four inch heels and held her hands out to accept attention from the furry beast closer to the ground. Henry let the lead go loose so Kal could pull ahead and smother the woman. He trusted Kal’s opinion of people more than he did others’, so he figured if the dog got to her and then turned away, he’d have all the confirmation he required that the woman needed to disappear quickly.

However, the woman’s peel of laughter when Kal began licking her face made him instantly regret everything he’d surmised about her from afar. In fact, no high maintenance person would ever get on the same level as a drooling, shedding dog just to pet it, hug it, and let it slobber all over her.

The joyful smile on her full, dusty pink lips gave him pause. It was beautiful.   _She_  was beautiful. And she only confirmed that fact when she pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and revealed the biggest, deepest brown doe eyes he’d ever seen. In the shade they appeared black, but as she turned slightly into the bright sunlight, flecks of amber and gold lit the deep coffee color on fire. A playfulness twinkled within them, but there was also something else. Something sobering and wise that made her appear much older than she probably was.

Realizing he was gaping, he shut his mouth and finally reined Kal to his side when he became too aggressive.  She giggled again and rested her hands on her thighs to help counterbalance as she stood to her full height—probably five-six naturally, since her heels added a considerable advantage that nearly placed her eye-to-eye with him.

He noticed a ribbon of slimy dog drool stretching down over her left breast and groaned inwardly. That designer shirt would cost a pretty penny to replace if a dry cleaner couldn’t clean it. She followed the direction of his stare, looking down at herself, grabbing the hem of her shirt and holding it out to get a better view.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said. “It’ll dry.”

“But it’ll stain.”

She frowned and shook her head. “Not this fabric. It’ll wash right out.”

“If it doesn’t, you’ll have to let me replace it,” he replied. Why did he offer that? Who the fuck knew. She was the one who got on the ground to pet the slobber machine.

“You can’t,” she added, reaching into her handbag. She pulled out a tissue and small lint roller. She used the tissue to dab away the worst of the slime, balled it in her fist and stuck it back in her bag.

He frowned right along with her. He was so over people telling him he couldn’t do things, when, in fact, he could do anything he pleased. Well, within reason. “And why can’t I?”

“Because it’s one of a kind, and you don’t know the designer,” she stated matter-of-factly.

No, Henry did not know the designer because he didn’t keep up on women’s fashion trends or the bi-annual lines released from fashion houses. But he knew when something was expensive, and that blouse was. He couldn’t just let her wave it off like it meant nothing. He’d figure it out and find her another. If she needed it.

The woman quickly used the lint roller on her top and skirt, the sticky tape pulling up most of the dog hair that had fallen on her. He, meanwhile, found himself transfixed with the way the device rose and fell over her copious curves and dips, over hips, across her large pert breasts, then vertically down each one to her stomach. It was so hypnotizing, she finished and cleared her throat before he blinked hard and met her eyes again.

This time, her expression was pinched. “I’m Grace Navarro, by the way. Your new PR assistant… and I guess… personal assistant for your publicity tour.”

She didn’t bother to shake his hand.

“Oh,” he said finally, running his hand through his sweaty hair. He probably looked horrible after his run. “Right, yeah. I guess I just expected Dave to be here.”

Grace snorted in derision. “You expected him to come down off his mountain to do this? Good luck with that.”

He was momentarily taken aback by the hard edge in her otherwise smooth, mellifluous voice. He’d never dream of speaking ill of a boss to someone he had just met, especially when he knew the other person had a direct line of communication to the boss.

But he didn’t know what their dynamic was, and he’d met Dave himself. The man probably didn’t deserve her undying allegiance.  So, Henry teased right along with her. “At least you’ll be easier to look at.”

Grace shifted uncomfortably on her heels and turned back toward the gates. “So, you think we can go in? I’m supposed to meet Dany—and it’s ten. I’m late.”

Henry wanted to kick himself. Could he be sued for sexual harassment when she wasn’t technically his employee? Hell if he knew. Maybe that comment wasn’t called for. He’d tried adding a light joking spin, but, as always, the words just came out in a rush and plopped on the ground like a wet rag.

He reached into his other pocket and hit the button on his key fob. The gate swung open to allow them inside, and he motioned her to go first, enjoying the view of her swinging hips despite their rocky start and his reticence to allow another woman to get close to him. He vowed then and there that he’d be good; he wasn’t going to let himself mess up his life again. Maybe he needed to start building his career—his image—back up one woman at a time. And he figured she was a good place to start, as untested and unknown as she was to him.

Now it was just a matter of working—and living—with this gorgeous creature for the next however many months.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, all! Enjoy!

**Chapter 3**

 

They say the way to man’s heart is through his stomach. Grace’s mom never agreed with that adage and made sure that all her children knew the best way to a man’s heart was through the third and fourth rib. However, as of 10:13 AM October 3, 2017, Grace revised it further, having found an even better way to man’s heart—through his dog.  

The dog was, also, practically the only thing Grace could find in the dossier about Henry Cavill that she could, conceivably, have in common with him. She didn’t like sports, or spending hours at the gym. She didn’t have parents who were still married, or a tightknit, productive family that defined the notion of WASP-y and the moderately wealthy. And she definitely wasn’t as well traveled or cultured as he was.

She had poverty and an estranged father in prison. A mother who worked long hours at a clothing manufacturer until her fingers bled to support her children. Two of Grace’s brothers worked in construction as skilled carpenters, another had just barely graduated high school and was floating somewhere between becoming a gangbanger like his father, or a stand-up citizen with a legally paying job. Her sister, a high school senior and the designer of the fabulous blouse Henry’s dog had drooled on, wanted to go to design school next year, but Grace still hadn’t figured out a way to make it happen for her.

What could they possibly have in common with each other, enough to reach some sort of tenuous working relationship? Well, other than their similar enjoyment of dogs. There was nothing. Literally, nothing.

And yet, Grace thought, as she looked over at him: he wasn’t a different species. He was just a man, flesh and bone and hauteur, in need of a good cover. Something to hide his inability to filter his words and actions before he got himself into trouble. Just like her, really; what she portrayed to the outside world was not who she was. She carefully separated the sometimes-glamorous life of a Hollywood publicist with that of her home life, of the life of a first generation Mexican-American. Her sister and mother helped her hide it and package it in nice clothes, but that’s all it was. A shield. Her PR image, as it were.

So, maybe, they did have more in common with each other than she’d originally thought.

A voice, deep and careful, poked through her thoughts. “Are you coming?”

Grace blinked and looked up at the tall, bulky man in front of her. She’d never been around someone who was large enough to make her feel small and delicate. But Henry Cavill did just that.

“Yeah, sorry,” she replied. She shook her head, forcing herself to get her head in the game. While this wasn’t the place she wanted to be now, she needed to be present. She needed to wow Dany Garcia so she could make it out from under Dave and Elite PR.

Grace followed behind Henry’s hulking form, staring straight ahead, watching intently at the way the corded muscles rippled along his back through the sweaty gray t-shirt as he walked.  He was gorgeous as fuck, she’d give him that, but she refused to allow herself to travel down that path. She wasn’t here to fall in love. She was here to work. And from their brief meeting outside, she had a lot of it to do if she was going to save his career.

No, save him from himself. Also from that mouth that got away from him.

He directed her into a giant kitchen that was as large as the three-bedroom bungalow she shared with the rest of her family. Dany sat on a stool at a large granite-topped island with papers spread out in a fan around her. Three separate cell phones rang different tunes begging to be answered first. It was impressive to watch her move through her work, shutting down something on one phone line, then talking politely to someone else about some movie deal she was organizing on another. And then, lastly, on the third line, threatening her daughter with punishment if she didn’t return by curfew that night.

She finally set the third cell down and stood up to greet Grace with a bright white smile. “Graciela! It’s so nice to meet you!”

Grace had been around this industry long enough to know when someone was putting on an act of happy politeness, but Dany wasn’t. She seemed genuinely pleased to meet her, and opened her arms for a welcoming hug. Even that was real, albeit light and somewhat distant with the knowledge that they really didn’t know anything about each other. In fact, Dany probably knew nothing about her. Grace had the advantage of an extensive Google search the previous evening.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Ms. Garcia,” Grace said.

Dany looked over her face, assessing her quickly and stepping away. “Ever call me that again and you’re fired. Just Dany is fine.”

Grace laughed after she picked her plummeting stomach off the floor. Okay, she could deal with teasing. “Sorry, Dany.”

“So,” Dany began, “Fred seemed pretty impressed with you after the meeting yesterday. Said you could hold your own against Dave without strangling him, which I admire.”

Grace chuckled lightly, shifting the bag on her shoulder uncomfortably. Why was praise so difficult to hear, even for something so inconsequential?  She caught a glimpse of Henry out of the corner of her eye, flicking her attention to him for a moment. He had continued deeper into the kitchen toward the refrigerator where he’d procured an ice-cold water bottle.  She heard the snap of the cap seal and watched his perfectly shaped cupid’s bow lips close around the rim of the bottle to take a sip. He didn’t bother to look away from her as he gulped down half the water, his blue gaze boring into her with focused curiosity.

It was difficult to differentiate the heat in his eyes as either hate or something…  _else_. But she operated on the principle that it was at least dislike, because it’d been made clear to her that he wasn’t happy to have a nanny. She understood that much from the distasteful curl of his lip when they met outside and then when he insisted on dominating her about the stupid blouse.

She cleared her throat and tore her gaze away from him. “I hope I live up to Fred’s and your opinions of me.”

 _Henry can hate me_ , she thought. Having him like her wasn’t part of the job she’d been assigned. All she needed to do was keep him out of trouble, and maybe find a few things in common with him to make the next few months bearable in a professional sense.

“I’m sure,” Dany said and pulled a thick black leather folder out of one of her bags. She slid it across the granite-topped island, but didn’t bother to look up before she began packing her other things. “Of course, you have the dossier from your agency, but this is all the nitty gritty information you’ll need. Numbers and security codes and passwords, where to shop, schedules, things like that.”

Grace reached for the binder and flipped it open. The front page was nothing more than numbers and names, and from her quick glance, it was a literal who’s-who of Hollywood. Her stomach flopped. Even though she worked with these types of people all the time, she’d never been given a list like this and carte blanche to contact them. Her position at Elite wasn’t high enough to warrant it.

Dany grinned. “Henry will fill you in on all the particulars about what he expects from you as a personal assistant, but he knows you’re really here for PR stuff. Right Henry?”

A gruff mumble filled the room. Grace glanced in his direction. His lips pinched into a firm line as he focused on some invisible speck on the wall beside him, rubbing a thumb over it before turning back to them.

“I wish I could stay longer, but I have a fire to put out at Paramount,” Dany said, shoving what was left into a bag. “If you have any questions at all, my information is on the bottom. Here’s your new email information. We can use your regular work one for PR stuff, but personal stuff, please use the Promethean address. There’s a Macbook in Henry’s office that his last assistant used, so you can go ahead and use it while you’re here. It already has the email account and other things set up so really it’s nothing to worry about.”

Grace nodded, and looked at Henry again. Looking for some involvement from him. His expression hadn’t improved.  Didn’t he want to be a part of this? Why was he standing back and letting Dany handle everything?

“Great, I think I’ll figure it out,” Grace said, dropping her own bag on the island.

Dany laughed and nodded. “Of course you will, Grace. Fred was right. I’ve got a good feeling about you.”

“Thanks,” Grace replied.

And with that, Dany whirled out of the room, yelling her farewells. A few seconds later, the door slammed shut, leaving them in silence but for the whispering whir of the fridge compressor turning on to cool.  Grace closed her eyes, took a breath, and straightened her back. She had expected more introduction than this. At least a buffer to get to know her charge better.

But she didn’t. Know him better, that was.

She turned to him. “So…”

He sighed. “Let me get cleaned up and I’ll be down to go over everything.”

Before she could even reply, he disappeared. Henry escaped faster than Dany did, leaving her in a silent kitchen with a panting dog staring up at her expectantly.  Grace looked at Kal. He really was a handsome boy, just like his master. “Aren’t you going to follow your dad?”

Kal licked his chops, practically smiling.

“Guess not.”

Grace turned to her new book and thumbed the dividers along the side until she found the one labeled “Kal” and flipped it open. There were instructions on feeding with the exact amounts, type of food, what sort of treats he liked, complete with photos to make it fool proof.  

A second page had a list of veterinarians, both his regular vet and an emergency vet, plus a dog daycare, hotel, and groomer. This animal spent more time at the salon than she did, and that was saying a lot because she spent four hours every fourth week in a salon.

The third page was all about traveling with the wooly bear and Kal’s designation as an emotional support animal. She’d already read about that in the PR dossier, but skimmed the information again; it still didn’t make much sense to her. Why the hell did he need an ESA? This man was wealthy, attractive—on the outside it looked like he had it all. Did he use the designation just so Kal could travel with him, or did he truly need him for support? And if so… why? Surely, he could use Kal’s friendship now, but before? Was he really that socially awkward?

She grabbed the book and read as she drifted into the sitting room just off the kitchen. Grace surmised he must use the room a lot, based solely on the well-worn indents in the puffy couches and chairs; she understood why the moment she sunk into her seat. It felt like heaven.

Kal crawled up beside her and laid his massive head on her lap, settling down and quickly falling asleep. Grace chuckled and ran her fingers through his soft hair, lightly scratching behind his ears. He was a good dog.

Hopefully his owner would be just as good.

Maybe occasional behind-the-ear scratches would work for him, too.

The thought made her grin, but she turned back to reading through the information, refusing to allow the rest of her thoughts travel down that path.

* * *

 

Henry quickly toweled dry and then threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, somewhat eager to return to his new assistant. Maybe he didn’t quite trust her, based on his first impressions, but Dany seemed excited to have her around. And he trusted Dany with his life—she hadn’t steered him wrong yet. So, he figured, he ought to give the new girl a chance. Even though it wouldn’t be easy, not knowing the reason for her new position as his ‘nanny’ and what she must think of him.

He stopped at the bedroom door, turning back to his bed to look for Kal, where the dog usually slept while Henry got ready for the day. Kal was gone. Or, maybe, he’d never been up. There weren’t even dents or footprints on the comforter after the cleaning lady had been through earlier and made the bed.

His stomach twisted. That dog and he would need to have a serious talk about loyalty if Kal was where Henry thought he might be.

And he was.

 _Traitor._   

Henry found both Kal and Grace sitting in the family room. She’d slipped off her high heels and tucked her feet underneath herself in a position that still made her skirt seem ladylike—no small feat considering how closely the fabric clung to her thick thighs. Kal lay beside her, his big head in her ample lap, dead to the world.

Her long fingers absently massaged the dog’s head as she turned a page in the Henry Bible, as his last assistant had called it, devouring it like it were some brand new bestseller. Maybe it was. His whole life—everything about him—could be found within those black-and-white pages.

The thought that he could be reduced to a few pieces of paper and anyone else could assume the running of his life, humbled him. All he had to do was sit around and become some passive face. A brand, they tried to tell him, dressing it up and making it seem like it was all a good thing, with everyone else doing his work for him. All he had to do was show up, smile at the camera, say the right things, and he made all the money. It made him uncomfortable. It made him feel empty. Wasn’t there more to life than what could be contained in a few pages?

Sure, he liked the perks. The money. The attention. The women. The innumerable ancillary incentives. But suddenly, for whatever reason he didn’t yet comprehend, none of it held the same excitement as it once did.

He wanted to be authentic. To be himself.

But what had happened a month ago—what that horrible reporter had shown the world—made it clear that the world didn’t want Real Henry. They wanted the brand. They wanted golden-hearted Superman.

And that pissed him off.

Grace stirred and pulled her feet out from beneath her, setting them flat on the ground. Kal didn’t bother to move, merely opening his eyes and looking up from his position. She laughed at him. Not only was she beautiful, but she had a dangerous laugh. A throaty, smooth one. It tickled the base of his spine, even, terribly close to a part of his body that didn’t need to be tickled. Not least of all by the woman sent to save his career.

“What do you say, Kal?” she asked quietly. “Think your dad will mind if I give you a treat?”

Kal’s ears perked up, suddenly interested.

Henry cleared his throat to alert her to his presence. She didn’t startle. Instead, she turned to look in his direction. Henry shook his head. “He’s had enough treats this morning.”

Grace turned back to Kal, grabbing his head between her hands. She bent down and planted a big kiss on his forehead; Henry expected a smear of glossy pink lipstick to be left on Kal’s fur, but nothing transferred. When she pulled back, she stuck her tongue out and grabbed at the tip, pulling a bit of hair stuck to her mouth. “You certainly are a shedder, aren’t you?”

“I have to brush him constantly,” he said. “Doesn’t help we’re changing seasons.”

“How does that work when you’re traveling and he’s going all over the place?” she asked. “Does he ever acclimate to a location?”

“Honestly, it doesn’t really matter. There’s still hair all over. Clouds of it floating all over,” Henry said with a laugh, feeling the tension ease in his shoulders. Maybe she wasn’t so bad, after all. She liked Kal. Kal liked her. There was a lot to be said in that. “And you’re covered in it again.”

She glanced down at her lap and shrugged. “I’ll stock up on lint rollers.”

Surprising, considering his initial expectations of her snootiness. She really didn’t seem to care about the mess, despite her outward appearance.

“Fred told me to wear jeans and sneakers,” she said, as though reading his mind. “Don’t worry about it. I like wearing these clothes because it still makes it feel like a job, you know? Breaking down and doing jeans makes it seem like I’m just coming to hang out and I don’t want to get lazy.”

Ah.

“I can respect that,” he said, sliding into the chair opposite her. He leaned back and stretched his long legs out in front of him.

He caught her looking him over, from his thighs up to his face.  It took everything to keep his mouth shut and his face impassive; he desperately wanted to lift a questioning, teasing brow at her to see what sort of reaction he might get.

She bit her lip and blinked her eyes, clearing her thoughts. “So… should we get started?”

“Sure,” he replied. “I’ll give you a tour in a bit, so you know where everything is. But first, I wanted to know why you were chosen for this. Are you a junior publicist? Senior?”

Grace snorted. “No. But I’ve worked at Elite for five years now, since I graduated high school.”

He guessed she was young, but he hadn’t thought that she was  _that_  young. Sure, twenty-three or so wasn’t  _that_  young—in fact, he’d dated women younger—but he was surprised to find that she’d been handed this task at her age and with her inexperience. It was a lot of responsibility, but he supposed youth would make the stress easier to handle.

She continued. “I’m just a lowly social media specialist. Dave hasn’t promoted me yet, despite others promoted before me, but hired after. The reason I’m  _here_  is because I’m a woman and he sees me as expendable.”

Henry frowned and sat forward, pursing his lips together. So they sent someone to him who probably had no experience in handling the very difficult, choppy waters of his fuck up?  _Lovely._

“Expendable?” he asked.

“Since I’m also assuming some of your personal assistant’s job,” she said, “he thinks I’m suited for it because I’m a woman. You know, running errands, light cooking, taking care of a dog, catering to the whims of a man.”

Ah, there it was. The high maintenance feminist coming out to play. “Maybe you were just redundant as a social media specialist so he was looking for a place to put you so you could stay employed.”

“Or, maybe,” she said, straightening her back and growing defensive in body language, “he knew you were also a sexist jerk and I’d be able to stand up to you because I already deal with it every day.”

“I’m not sexist.”

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows practically shot up to her hairline. “Really? I heard a recording that would beg to differ.”

He smacked his right palm flat on the table beside him, rattling the decorative vase sitting on it. Kal jumped up and looked at him. The dog moseyed over to him and sat at his feet, comforting his owner, doing his job.

Henry took in a steadying breath. “Look, whatever you may think about me, it’s not true, okay? That reporter simply rubbed me the wrong way.”

“There’s always an ounce of truth in any jest,” she poked back.

He grimaced. “Look, I’m a traditionalist, yes, but it’s not like I’m stuck in the 60s or something. I like the idea of being the head of the house, the bread winner, and my mate being equal, but still… traditional. You know? I’ve had a lot of women I’m interested in lately thinking they can just ride my coattails without putting  _anything_ into the relationship, whether it’s in traditional gender roles or not. And when I ask them to maybe, I don’t know, meet me halfway through a traditional role—to contribute equally to our relationship and support me—they blow up. It reached a boiling point and I exploded on that reporter when I shouldn’t have. I’ll hate the moment I let those things come out of my mouth for as long as I live. Most of it wasn’t true and I would never, ever talk about women that way.”

Grace was completely silent and eased back into her seat, folding her hands in her lap, watching him. Almost as though she were trying to intuit if he were being truthful. He hoped she heard his earnestness or saw it in his face. He hated the things he’d said in the heat of the moment, but he figured this conversation with Grace needed to happen if she was ever going to be fully invested in helping him save his career.

“You might not ever talk about women that way, but that doesn’t mean you don’t think it,” she said softly.

“That’s not true. Why would I hire Dany to run my business if I didn’t trust women?”

Grace sighed, pushing the thought away for further inspection later. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. I’m here to do a job. To turn you back into box office gold.”

He could see he still hadn’t won her over, but he figured that would come with time. As she spent more time around him, she’d learn. And he would try his damnedest to make her see that she was all wrong about him.

Henry scooted forward in the seat. “How about that tour now?”

He only hoped she—and the rest of the world— _was_  wrong about him, just as he hoped he was wrong about  _her_.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait on this next chapter. Enjoy!

**Chapter 4**

After the tour of Henry’s palatial house, Kal following close at their heels, they ended up in the office to concentrate on some real work. Grace was still unsure as to what she needed to do, but was grateful to find that she had her own desk in the large room, off in a quiet corner. Henry’s desk sat in the middle, one of those huge oak desks with intricate carvings that probably cost more than her car. Okay, maybe that wasn’t hard. Her car was a piece of shit and in the shop again, hence being reduced to an Uber ride from her next-door neighbor. Still, it was impressively sized, the offhanded comment that he was compensating for something playing at her lips.

She carefully reined in the urge to put a voice to it. Instead, and probably more troublesome, she thought frivolously about how it was one of those big, sturdy desks perfect for fucking if he were so inclined. But she wasn’t going to put a voice to  _that_ , either. In fact, she was going to completely forget about it and shove the thought out of her head, as unacceptable as it was.

Henry sat down in the chair behind his desk like it was a velvet-cushioned throne covered in gold gilt. It took him several seconds to find a comfortable position before he eventually focused on the computer sitting in the center. The top workspace of the desk was tidy and sparsely decorated: a few notepads, a cup containing pens and pencils, and a landline telephone. A tray for mail and other documents as needed sat at the right corner. Very much a business setup, but also with a lot of unused space. This puzzled her; he didn’t seem like such a minimalist. No man who spent his free time on women and clubs and luxury to excess was a man who kept a regimented and sparing workspace.

Unless she’d got him all wrong from the outset.

She didn’t know what to make of him, honestly, especially after their little conversation-slash-argument. Ultimately, she’d wanted to poke at him. Test his weaknesses where the subject of his problems were concerned, to get some sort of baseline to anticipate how he might react in future public situations if someone mentioned it, as they were sure to do. The story was getting old; the press wanted fresh blood in the water. They’d try anything to get a rise out of him to sell more magazines and get more website hits.

She  _hadn’t_  intended to let her personal opinions mix into the discussion and let it become as heated as it did. Worse yet was that she couldn’t really find it in herself to totally condemn him now that she’d spoken with him. Before, it’d seemed so clear cut. She’d been able to put him in a box with Dave. Meeting him, feeling him out, watching his body language, had humanized him in such a way that she had not been prepared for it.

Yes, sure, what he’d said in that damned recording was horrible, but his reasoning and explanation? She almost understood him. That, more than anything, was the cause for her initial ire. Working for Dave, and what Henry had insinuated, was a sore spot. But she also understood Henry’s yearning for a woman who met him halfway in a relationship.

After all, that’s all she wanted from a guy, too. Hadn’t she just gone off on the straight male species the previous afternoon, after her last breakup email? None of those idiots ever met her halfway, in the way she wanted them to. She gave and gave only to never reach equality in the relationship. The only difference was that she didn’t have cameras and recorders shoved in her face to catch her inevitable meltdown and spread it across the globe.

So, despite her better judgement, Grace found herself begrudgingly accepting of her new boss. He deserved a second chance as much as anyone else, right? It pissed her off. She didn’t want to accept him, and it was very clear he didn’t want to accept her, considering the way he warily glanced in her direction, but at least they’d reached an impasse.

“What?” he asked, an errant curl falling across his forehead. He flicked it to the side with his fingers. They were long and thick, like the rest of him.

“I apologize for earlier,” she said softly and turned to the laptop Dany had mentioned earlier. She flipped the lid up and hit the power button. “I’ve been working for Dave too long and I automatically think every guy I work for will be the same.”

Henry huffed. “I didn’t exactly give you the best impression of me outside, or with what I said a little bit ago. It’s my fault, really. I mean, you’re here for that reason. My mouth gets me in trouble.”

Grace nodded, and looked over her shoulder at him. “I just need you to be aware that I will not hesitate to call you out in the future.  I really want you to prove me wrong—hell, I want you to prove the world wrong.”

“I look forward to it.” He tried to hide it, but she saw the twitch at the corner of his mouth that threatened to turn up into a smile.

Grace spent the next half hour in the silent office familiarizing herself with the set up left by his previous assistant, ran through most of the emails in the inbox, and then returned to her own work laptop for any pressing matters.  The first thing to arrive was a notice that Henry had a new engagement in a week at a charity ball for the National Coalition Against Domestic Violence. In Atlanta.

Grace groaned. For the first engagement after something like Henry’s fuck up, it seemed a little heavy. In fact, it would be incredibly difficult for him to show his face there with no cushion of some positive press prior to it. These people were going to eat him alive, or they were going to completely forget about the recording. She hoped it was the latter, for everyone’s sake.

“Did you see the—” she began, but paused when she glanced back at him.

“Yes.” His jaw clenched, the word spoken tersely. “I’m all for it, but it seems like a lot after they’ve kept me under lock and key for so long now.”

She agreed. Then she lied to make him feel better. “I don’t think it’ll be too bad. You just show your face, do the photo op, write a check at the auction. Besides, you might be sexist, but I don’t get the abusive vibe from you.”

He guffawed. “That’s something, I guess.”

“Sorry, I just—” She bit her lip. She really had to watch herself now; sitting behind a computer monitor on social media the last five years had made her feral when dealing in real person-to-person relationships. Maybe that was why she found it so difficult to like him? “Yeah, I’ll just shut up.”

Henry chuckled. It was a surprisingly nice, deep rumbling. “It’s also a masquerade, so if things go dodgy, I can always cover my face and no one will recognize me.”

Grace frowned and scanned his hopeful face, dropping her eyes to his broad shoulders and chest. The simple cotton t-shirt strained against the muscles contained within it. “Yeah, I don’t think a mask will be much help.”

A single brow rose in a suggestive arch. “Are you checking me out?”

She shook her head as she turned back to her computer. “If I were checking you out, you’d know it.”

“Right.”

So why was her face blazing hot with a blush? Grace grumbled under her breath and clicked angrily at the web browser to open the correct link to secure plane tickets for the trip. “How long would you like to stay in Atlanta? In and out? You have a radio interview the morning of the ball, but nothing else scheduled.”

“Let’s fly in the day before, come back the day after,” he said. “Since I’ve got the time.”

Grace pressed her lips together, dying to question him about the note of frustration she’d heard in his tone about having free time. Instead, she asked, “Private or commercial?”

“Commercial,” he said. “And I’m leaving Kal at home, so you’ll need to make those pet hotel reservations.”

Kal popped his head up from the large memory foam dog bed in the opposite corner of the room. Grace laughed. “I never knew a dog could look so dejected.”

Henry huffed. “He’ll be fine.”

“Will his master be fine?”

“Why do you ask that?”

Grace again turned in her chair and held up Henry’s information booklet. She wanted to know what she was dealing with emotionally that he kept Kal certified as an ESA. “It says he’s—”

Henry cleared his throat and trained his eyes on his computer, trying too hard to not get invested in the conversation, and in the process lasered in on whatever had come across the screen with a scowl. “He’s both, but it’s not flying I need him for. Sometimes it’s just nice to have company on long shoots where you don’t know anyone.”

“Because no one could ever make new friends.”

His shoulders tensed, his face becoming slack and impassive, almost as though he’d checked out for a minute, as though he were having a memory of something. Finally, he seemed to animate again and said, “You know, it’s not as easy for some as it is for others.”

Grace didn’t say anything. It was a sore subject, clearly, and she wasn’t going to get anywhere with their working relationship if she continued to harp on it. In fact, she guessed he didn’t really need to explain anything. She already understood the reason for her assignment to him, and it was that his social anxiety manifested itself in a myriad of ways.

When they’d met outside, she instinctually paid attention to Kal first, simply because she adored dogs and she thought it would be a good ice breaker. Now she understood that Henry probably used him, at least in a few instances, to ease the awkwardness of new acquaintances. It gave two people something to talk about for a bit, that could flow into a normal conversation. Even so, it was still strange to look at the man sitting so kingly behind his desk and know that, on the inside, he was just a bundle of awkward nerves.

Honestly, the fact that he  _didn’t_  have it all together made him a little more relatable. At least he was human; a human who made stupid comments in public settings, sure, but still redeemable. She wondered why Dave didn’t think about going with that angle for Henry’s new publicity plan. Introverts and socially awkward keyboard jockeys everywhere would love a role model to show the world that foot-in-mouth disease was a real affliction plaguing even the most successful and handsome of men.

“You’re sure you don’t want him to come?”

“Why? I’ll have you.”

“Am I a friend, then?” Grace asked.

“No, you’re my employee that I can use and abuse,” he said.

She tossed the book back on her desk and stood up, smoothing her blouse over her stomach. “In that case, I’m taking my mandated fifteen-minute break and getting some coffee. Do you want some?”

“Are you any good at brewing it?”

“Usually I let the percolator do that,” she quipped. “But my hand has been known to slip on occasion and add a few extra scoops.”

His grimace made her laugh.

“Don’t like strong, bitter coffee?”

“I come from the land of tea, love,” he replied, his voice dripping in a much-pronounced accent. The curl on the top his head fell back across his forehead.

Grace gagged. “Ugh, I hate that stuff. Just go for the fully leaded experience! Quit wasting your time with leaf flavored milk water.” She added a visceral shudder for good measure. “And just so you know, this conversation is not part of my break. Because I’m still dealing with my slave-driver of a boss.”

His face lit up in a bright smile. Really, despite the initial awkwardness between them—meeting outside, and then the brief argument earlier—he already seemed to be much more at ease. Maybe his social problems weren’t as severe as some, but they were still deep-seated if they continued to bother him at thirty-four.

She wondered if, perhaps, he didn’t need a psychologist more than he needed a publicist.

Henry stood from his seat and moved around the desk. Grace frowned at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going to supervise,” he said. “That’s my job.”

“It’s coffee, not rocket science,” she replied. “If you want coffee, I’ll be good and give you some weak ass coffee.”

He shook his head and brushed right past her out the door of the office. She stood still watching his swiftly moving ass, shaking her head. Maybe the next few months wouldn’t be that bad after all, now that he seemed to be loosening him up. And that ass, man. She felt certain of her ability to bounce a quarter off its flexed surface.

Rolling her eyes at herself, she pushed those thoughts down. But even as she tried to do that, he paused briefly as he turned a corner down another hall, glancing back in her direction. He must have caught the look on her face and the position of her trained eyes, because he laughed a dangerous, deep laugh.

Okay,  _that_  time, she’d been checking him out.

* * *

 

Henry had whiplash.

One minute they were arguing with each other, and two hours later they’re laughing with each other over coffee. Oh, and she started checking him out, trying to be sly about it, but he caught that appreciative female twinkle in her eyes more than once. She could try to deny it all she wanted, but he wasn’t an idiot. Nor was he immune to an attractive woman eyeing him up.

They’d only just met that morning and he still wasn’t sure what she thought about him. Though he knew a great deal of physical attraction to someone rested in the intellectual—whether they particularly liked each other or not—a person could still objectively find someone else physically pleasing. She might hate him for all he knew, and simply found herself transfixed because she was human and could appreciate a nice body. The incredibly confusing problemwas that he didn’t get the objective feeling from her, as though she were a scientist clinically considering is attributes. There was heat there, in her gaze, when he’d turned back and caught her staring at his arse.

Had her ire earlier all been for show, to test him?

Not that it mattered anyway, one way or another, about what she thought of him. She was his employee. De facto, yes, but his employee for the foreseeable future all the same. Most importantly, if he allowed himself the opportunity to consider her in the same way, he was, in a way, proving her and everyone else right. What could be the most sexist thing a man in a position of power could do? Oh, yeah, hit on his assistant. Talk about devaluing someone. He refused to allow himself the pleasure of considering her in any way but professional. It would save them all a lot of heartache down the road.

Besides that, he couldn’t trust himself. After months of imprisonment in his house, mostly away from the general public and female companionship, he had no way to gauge whether his mutual attraction—purely physical, mind—was due to lack of options or borne out of a real interest. He wasn’t about to ruin what was left of his dignity on something like this when he had so little to go off of.

Still, though, he found himself watching out of the corner of his eye as she moved around his spacious kitchen. They’d both agreed to disagree on the coffee, and he set a pot to brew while she rummaged around the refrigerator looking for lunch options. She didn’t seem satisfied with anything, and her perusal stretched on and on while they drank their coffee. Finally, she stepped back, her hand on the refrigerator door, and stood up to look at him.

“You have the most well-stocked fridge of any bachelor I’ve ever met,” she said. “My older brothers—they live together—have beer, like five boxes of cold pizza, and a door full of hot sauce. Oh, and a place with tons of fast food sauce packets.”

He couldn’t contain his laughter. “That’s not even as full as it usually is. I’m on the ‘clean everything out because I’ll be gone for most of the rest year’ phase.”

She scrunched her nose up and looked back inside. “What do you want? I can’t decide on anything. There’re too many choices.”

“You don’t have to make me lunch,” he said.

“Aren’t I supposed to?”

He sighed. Sure she was, but he didn’t want her to do it. It would just cement her unfavorable opinion of him. “You’d be responsible for securing food for me when I’m either in the middle of a shoot day or in the middle of interviews on a junket. That sort of thing. Otherwise, I can take care of it myself.”

Grace nodded and shut the refrigerator. “Good thing, because I’m a horrible cook. I can burn water.”

“There’s no such thing as a horrible cook if you can read a recipe,” he said.

“Then I lack the tenacity for it,” she replied with a laugh. “And you have to admit, there’s something in the way certain people just ‘know’ when something’s done in the oven.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “Yeah, they use a thermometer.”

Grace scoffed.

“But you’re probably right,” he conceded.

Having won the argument, she shook her head and closed the door. “Have you been out of this house at all since—”

“Just my jog this morning with Kal,” he interrupted.

She moved over to the kitchen island and leaned against it, setting her elbows on the granite countertop and resting her chin in her hands. “Would you like to go out for lunch?”

“You’re serious?”

Grace chuckled. “Yes?”

He stepped away from his spot and rounded the island. Then he grabbed her in his arms and planted a giant kiss on her forehead. When he set her back down and she peered up at him with startled wide eyes, he almost felt bad for doing it. But he couldn’t contain himself. “I’m sorry, it’s just been a really long time since I’ve been out.”

“You act like you’re a caged lion and I’ve just let you back into the wild,” she said with a light laugh. Her skin on her neck had filled with a bright red blush.

“I am and you are,” he said.

She looked at him a long time, considering him a little more closely. Then she sighed. “I would have told them to fuck off.”

“That’s what got me into trouble in the first place,” he said. “Let me find some shoes and get my wallet.”

“There are ground rules, though!” She called after him. When he turned to look at her, she continued. “No alcohol. No clubs. No women.”

“But you’re a woman.”

Grace coughed. “Well spotted.”

He thought she wanted to say more, considering the way the muscles in her face relaxed… and then brightened with a sweet smile. There was definitely something else, but she didn’t say it.

Instead, she laughed again. “Hurry up, I’m hungry.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.


End file.
